


Another Round of Being Broken

by Stratagem



Series: Among the Gifted [10]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stratagem/pseuds/Stratagem
Summary: John can still feel the grave on his hands.He wipes his palms against his jeans again, brushing off dirt and blood that isn't there anymore. If he was a regular person, his hands would've been red and blistered from how many times he's washed them in scalding water. But he's not.So they're not.





	Another Round of Being Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The Gifted.
> 
> A/N: Oh my gooooosh, the last episode came for my feelings. Post S1E8.

John can still feel the grave on his hands.

He wipes his palms against his jeans again, brushing off dirt and blood that isn't there anymore. If he was a regular person, his hands would've been red and blistered from how many times he's washed them in scalding water. But he's not.

So they're not.

Sage is saying something about refugees and supplies and what's been going on since he left, but he isn't focusing on her. He's only been gone for a few hours. Feels like years. How has it only been a few hours?

His head is pounding, the leftovers of a migraine beating around his skull. Or maybe it's a whole new migraine. He rubs his thumb against his fist. His hands feel dirty.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sage asks, worry on her sharp features.

John shakes his head. No, he's not, but he can't talk about it, he doesn't want to, not yet. But he can't stay in the surveillance room right now, not with its constant hum of information, a reminder of all the work that needs to be done. There's a hard drive on the desk, one of the two that were stolen so they could get information on—

There's an unwelcome heat behind his eyes, and he can't do this right now. "I'm going outside."

"Oh-okay," Sage says, staring at him.

He dashes out, picking up speed and then forcing himself to slow down so it doesn't look like he's running. Because if John is running, people will get worried, wonder where he's going, what the emergency is. The emergency is simply that he can't do this in front of all these people, not when they're looking to him to be strong, to be stalwart and unbreakable.

They can't see that he's already broken.

That's a blessing he guesses as he hurries through the headquarters, keeping his head down. He doesn't want to get stopped. He catches a glimpse of purple-black hair and for a second he meets Clarice's brilliant green eyes. There's a question and concern there, but he looks away and moves on before she can get the chance to ask it. He slams out a door and onto the stairs that lead to the roof, the cold November breeze already snatching at him, tugging at his hair.

He follows its lead and yanks the band out of his hair, letting the dark strands fall. Both hands pressed against his face, he ignores the tightness in his chest and takes a deep breath. The cold, he needs the cold to chase away the heat in his eyes. He needs water to splash over his face.

He needs to stop replaying that scene in his head, the one that's set on repeat, over and over again.

Gus' eyes, tight with pain, tears in the corners, but clear of whatever they did to him for just a moment.

The rattle in Gus' lungs, his broken bones grinding, his heartbeat slowing.

John heard every beat until it stopped.

The smell of burned flesh, John can't get away from it, he's sure it's still in his hair even though he washed it. John shoves his hands back, pulling his hair, trying to get it away from his face again.

This is the second time he failed Gus, the second time he let him die. The second time all his strength was absolutely useless.

His hands are so dirty.

He closes his eyes, the scene starts again, and he snaps them open. Beyond the bank and its blackout curtains, there's a dark night sky full of pinprick stars, and John doesn't care. Being outside doesn't help anything this time, it just gives him somewhere to hide from the others.

He sits down hard on the roof, back pressed up against the low wall, knees to his chest. This isn't good. He should go find something to do. Stay busy. Sitting here isn't helping anything, and there's a lot that needs to be done.

He doesn't stand up. Instead, he lets his head fall forward into his hands and screws his eyes shut against the damned heat that won't go away.

There's someone on the stairs.

Quiet footsteps, hesitant, like she knows he wants to be alone. But she comes anyways, her converses making the ascent up to the roof. She walks over to him, picking her way through the debris, around the hole. John tenses. If he looks up right now… He's the one that takes care of people. Not the other way around. That's how his life works.

"I'd ask if you're hurt but, you're _you_ ," Clarice says, steeping toward him, "But what's going on? You look like you've been through hell, Proudstar."

He jerks his head up, looking at the opposite wall. Not at her. "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, because you look fine."

Tentative fingers touch his hair, and he flinches away. He doesn't deserve to be touched, not like that, not when he let Gus die a second time.

"John?" His name is now a quiet exhaled question mark as she sits down beside him. He's rigid, at least until she presses her shoulder against his arm. "What is it?"

He glances over at her, just a quick look, and his eyes ache.

Clarice sucks in a breath, and then she's holding him, her face pressed against his neck.

She cups the back of his head and wraps her arms around him tight. And he's blinking but he can't hold everything back, and a few tears escape.

Her thumb brushes against his cheek and lingers there.

"I won't tell."

He pulls Clarice close and leans against her, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder.

Clarice doesn't know what's going on and she doesn't ask again, but she hugs him, comforting, kind.

John holds onto Clarice like she can put him back together. Like she can hold him together.

Maybe she can.


End file.
